


Dying for John

by ClueyLock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Clueylock, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Sheriarty - Freeform, Sherlock Fanfiction, Torture, chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1384279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClueyLock/pseuds/ClueyLock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Moriarty has finally found Sherlock Holmes' weakness: his doctor, John Watson. Moriarty makes a video tape of Sherlock dying and sends it to John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dying for John

**Author's Note:**

> A multiple chapter fic.  
> I had this fic posted on my old account but decided to transfer it onto this one instead!  
> Please review it after, and if you like it...maybe click the 'kudos' button?  
> Hope you enjoy the fic!

Sherlock stood in the doorframe of the 221b flat entrance, his clouded grey eyes locked with the crystal blue snake eyes belonging to Jim Moriarty, criminal mastermind and freakish pussyfoot.  
The windows were closed and the curtains pulled tightly across; the old lampshade in the corner that was barely ever used flickered uncertainly, casting daunting shadows across the floor. Moriarty turned away from Sherlock, and tilted his head to the side, gazing down and watching as the shadows danced upon the floorboards. His stare appeared to be glazed, like the penetrating look that a dead man's eyes gave you; the stare that could bore into your mind and your spirit. The stare that had the power to drive a sane man mad.  
The corners of Moriarty's mouth twitched in a crazed half-smile, and he drew his focus back to Sherlock, who was still taking in his presence with great observation and concern.  
"What is it that you want, Moriarty." The consulting detective's voice remained low and toneless, allowing his question to be turned into a simple, flat statement.  
Jim jumped forward, leering into Sherlock's face. His childlike ways always disturbed Sherlock, but he was careful not to let his enemy see this. Putting on a firm front was the only way Sherlock found himself able to cope when around Jim was around.

Jim Moriarty; crook, outlaw, swindler. The only man Sherlock Holmes was truly afraid of.

"You want to know what I want, Sherlock?" Moriarty sang, although his tune soon turned to screaming. "You want to know what I want!"  
Sherlock tilted his chin upwards.  
"Well, I would like your doctor to watch as the last breath of London air escapes your lungs, as you beg me for your life."  
Sherlock shifted his weight, sizing Moriarty up.  
"But Doctor Watson isn't here..."  
Jim stepped forward, a small vile balanced delicately between his thumb and forefinger.  
"Shall I tell you what the best thing about your death is going to be? I'm going to make you do it yourself. I'm going to make you destroy yourself."  
Moriarty lifted up the vile, and with his other hand, he produced a video recorder.  
"Let's make a little video for John, shall we?"

* * * *

"I don't know what game you're trying to play here, Moriarty." Sherlock spat, closing the door behind him as he stepped into the all-too-familiar living room that was his and John's home.  
"Smile for the camera, Sherlock." Moriarty's Cheshire Cat grin returned to his face once again as he flicked the camera open. "Aaand we're rolling!"  
Sherlock looked into the camera lens for a moment, and then up at Jim.  
"Camera shy, Sherly?" Jim taunted, turned around and resting the recorder on a nearby shelf to that wherever the men were in that room, they would appear on the camera screen.  
"So here's what's going to happen," Moriarty returned to his business-like tone. "You're going to die. On camera. Or I'll have my men take down your precious John Watson, Mrs Hudson, Molly Hooper - the other dear Holmes brother - and perhaps Wiggins, just for fun. One by one."  
"Just. For. Fun." The words bitterly rolled around Sherlock's mouth, forming disgustingly upon the tip of his tongue.  
"Yes!" Moriarty discarded his formal tune and returned to his old manic voice. Holding the test tube vile out to Sherlock, he nodded. "So. Shall we begin?" 

Sherlock's gaze fell upon the flashing red light of the recorder.  
"John." He moaned.  
"-Will be dead unless you do exactly as I say." Snapped Moriarty.  
"What's in the tube?"  
"Take it and you'll soon find out."  
Sherlock gathered himself together and sat down in John's armchair, subconsciously clutching the arm of the chair as if it were John's arm. Reaching out, he took the vile from Jim Moriarty's hand and studied the content.  
"Unusual texture. Black in colour. Definitely not acidic-" Moriarty snatched the container back from Sherlock and popped the cork, before taking a handful of dangerously dark curls and slamming his head backwards with a deafening crack.  
"Take it!" He shrieked.  
Tears of frustration threatened to spill over the edges of the consulting detective's eyes. His white lips that were only a moment ago pursed parted an inch, as consequences that would effect John and everybody else due to him refusing the substance washed through his mind.

He must protect John.

Moriarty tipped the liquid into his mouth, catching Sherlock's teeth with a slight clang as he did so. Clapping a tight hand over the detectives mouth and pinching his nose, Moriarty waiting for Sherlock to swallow before allowing him further breaths of oxygen.  
"What was that?" Sherlock asked for the third time, anger bubbling inside him.  
Jim said nothing, he simply stood and watched; like a cat watching a garden bird he'd just clawed bleed slowly out.  
Sherlock quivered, and hiccuped.  
"What the-?" He exclaimed, surprised.  
He hiccuped again, but this time a trickle of blood ran down the corner of his mouth. His eyes fell heavy, and the blood flow increased, if only slightly.  
"Go to sleep," Moriarty took to singing once more, his voice contrasting with the calm stillness of everything around him. "Sleep, Sherlock, sleep..."  
Sherlock's eyes reluctantly fell closed, his head flopping onto his shoulder; his body emotionless and completely stilled. Jim grabbed hold of the unconscious, (but not yet dead), detective's waist with his left arm, his other arm gathering up Sherlock's long legs as he scooped him up into his hold.  
Taking him into the middle of the room, he lay him down with a shockingly generous grace.  
"Sleep, Sherlock, sleep." Jim cooed, as he stroked the brilliant black locks on Sherlock's head. "For it will be the last time you do, until you die. Trust me, when I say I am going to prolong this as much as possible. You caused me pain. Now I'm going to inflict it upon you and little Johnny. Goodnight, Mr Holmes. Rest in peace. For when you awake, you will be as good as dead." 

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued.  
> Subscribe to me if you would like an instant update sent to you when I upload the next chapter to this fanfic, or even a new fic altogether!


End file.
